


The Picture of Innocence

by LeChatRouge673



Series: The Witcher Tales [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27996516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeChatRouge673/pseuds/LeChatRouge673
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Witcher Tales [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050413
Kudos: 3





	The Picture of Innocence

Zoltan Chivay and Livia stood on the front deck of The Chameleon waving to Geralt and Eskel as the two witchers headed into the city proper of Novigrad. They had errands to run, and Eskel had wanted to stop by the shop of Éibhear Hattori, the master swordsmith. Livia had been gently suggesting for months that his steel blade needed replaced, and he had finally agreed, even though it meant a trip north. It had been a pleasant surprise that Geralt was heading that way as well, as he always made for an interesting travel companion.

“Ye’ve gotten damned good at looking innocent,” Zoltan muttered under his breath, barely suppressing a grin.

“I am quite sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Livia retorted primly as they headed back into the cabaret and took a seat. “I am the very picture of innocence.”

“It’s not even ten o’clock in the morning and you’re already drinking like a dockhand,” her old friend pointed out.

Livia shrugged, throwing back a long swallow. “It’s a milk stout. It has milk right there in the name. Therefore, it is breakfast.”

One of the theater’s dancers side eyed her in curiosity, but Zoltan just laughed uproariously. “That’s my girl. Good to see domesticity hasn’t dulled your edge.”

“Hardly,” Livia snorted. “I live with a witcher. Our definition of ‘domesticity’ works for us, but it is certainly not common. In any case, it has been a while since we’ve seen each other. What kind of mischief should we get up to?”

Zoltan rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “Well, Madam Irina’s puttin’ on a new show that’s sure to rile up some of the more pious pricks in the city. Might be a good row. There’s always new rubes coming in thinkin’ they’ll make a quick fortune playing Gwent that you could teach a thing or two. Or we could have a quiet picnic lunch in St. Gregory’s square and watch the girls outside the Passiflora for a while. They don’t mind, so long as you kick a few crowns their way first.”

“Perfect.” Livia threw back the rest of her beer, stood up and brushed the imaginary wrinkles from her trousers, then placed a hand on her hip with a sweet smile.

“Let’s get started.”

* * *

“That bugger was damn lucky you only took his card and not his coin,” Zoltan grumbled as they stepped out of the dim cacophony of The Kingfisher and back out into the blazing sunlight. “The way he was needling ye I thought for sure he was going to end up with a boot up his arse. I was just deciding whether it would be yours or mine.”

Livia laughed, touched by her friend’s steadfast insistence on defending her even when he knew she could handle herself. “He was young, and impetuous, and obviously new to the city,” she explained patiently. “The blow to his pride should provide a lesson, as should the loss of what I suspect was his best card. He needs his coin far more than I do. Honestly, I do not even really need the card, but Gods only know Eskel could use it.”

Zoltan chuckled beside her. “He improved any since having a decent opponent on a regular basis?”

“Certainly,” Livia confirmed. “Though I still told him to stay well away from you.”

“Probably for the best. So,” Zoltan gallantly offered her an arm, “May I escort the lady to the venerable institution that is the Passiflora?”

“You may not,” Livia grinned, “but you may certainly escort me.”

* * *

There was nowhere else quite like The Passiflora. Marquise Serenity was a damned civic treasure as far as Liv and Zoltan were concerned, and her employees were the best of the best. It had been at least a year since Livia had visited, but the indomitable madam had greeted her as if she was an old friend. Of course, in Serenity’s line of work, it paid to encourage familiarity and repeat business.

“It was nice to catch up with the girls,” Livia observed as they disposed of the remains of their picnic lunch.

Zoltan scowled. “I’d like t’know why they charge you a third less than the rest of us.”

Livia laughed brightly. “Because I am pleasant, and because only half my visits ever ended up in bed. Often as not I would show up and pay the girls just to sit and talk for a while. You know I absolutely adore you to pieces, Zoltan, but sometimes it was nice to talk to other women.”

“Aye, but Viola looked downright crestfallen you weren’t here for something more engaging,” Zoltan teased, elbowing her lightly in the ribs.

“I know, but I would rather come back with Eskel,” Livia shrugged. “We’ll see how late his and Geralt’s errands run.”

“I hope that man realizes how very lucky he is. Come on,” Zoltan tossed his head in the direction of the lower city. “If we’re quick, we can still catch the show.”

* * *

They tumbled out of the enclosed theater courtyard two hours later, bloodied and bruised and laughing uncontrollably. Zoltan always did have good taste in theater, Livia thought to herself as she dusted off her blouse and tried to tuck in the ripped section before giving up. As her companion had predicted, the show had riled up the more devout members of the audience. Shouting had ensued, followed by punches, followed by a brief all out melee before the ushers were able to re-establish order. They hadn’t stayed for the end of the show.

“Y’know Eskel is like to murder me for taking you,” Zoltan pointed out, holding the door for Livia to stumble into the familiar coziness of The Chameleon.

“He will not,” Livia replied promptly. “Besides, it’s been simply ages since I’ve been in a good brawl. I’d forgotten what a wonderful stress relief it was. Being quiet and soft spoken is damned useful, but sometimes…”

“Aye,” Zoltan nodded, “Was probably good for ye. Here,” he handed her a surprisingly clean handkerchief. “Best clean up that split lip before your man gets here.”

“Too late,” Eskel spoke up dryly from the corner table where he and Geralt had been sharing a drink. He took the cloth from Livia and gently dabbed at the cut. “Just tell me the other guy looks worse?”

“Much,” she assured him, wrapping her arms around his waist as he brushed a careful kiss to her lips. “How was your day?”

“Clearly not as exciting as yours,” he replied with a small smile. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

She gave a small sigh of contentment, nestling her head against his chest. “Every word. I promise.”

Zoltan raised a mug as he called out from his seat at the bar.

“Don’t forget Viola!”


End file.
